


brick by brick we build our kingdoms

by starbooms



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, SUPER claude centered fic, and that's because i can !, but not really it still follows canon and the flow of events but i'm just manipulating some things !, claude is doing a mean girls where he infiltrates and tries to get accepted by golden deer aWEFAWEF, the power of friendship baby
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:21:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22437871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starbooms/pseuds/starbooms
Summary: Claude cares nothing for the throne, for the name nobility flowing through his blood or that has now become the building blocks for his DNA. What he does care for, however, is the power. The power to create change-the power to make a world where no one else can ever feel like an outsider. Where convergence swallows divergence whole, never to see the day of light again. That's what he wants. That's what he thirsts for.But he cannot do it alone.He needs an army, yes. But even greater-he needs bonds that will sustain fire and propel people to break empires for him. Then, his true plans can begin.(A Claude-focused fic exploring Claude's various ways of getting the members of Golden Deer on his side. AKA Claude needs friends but he also lowkey wants friends and CANNOT be damned to admit it!)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 40





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> i've updated all currently finished chapters thus far! more chapters will be released when i can. but also i hope you all enjoy this different spin, hopefully HOT TAKE on claude and his various relationship building skills with the main golden deer gang!

_ There is nobility in your blood. Heir, to the house of Leicester. The crest that you bear marks you of your worth - Duke von Reigan.  _

What utter bullshit. 

Let it be known, in this moment, that Claude cares nothing for the revelation that regality is embedded into the fibers of his DNA. That royals and riches make up the composition of his blood, along with the commoner and  _ savage  _ these people regard him as in the same breath. 

But, he does not hate this man who calls himself  _ Grandfather.  _ Who grips onto Claude’s shoulders with the intensity of a man who has dug up his buried treasure. He must think he’s turned the tides. He’s discovered a weapon, of secret and revolutions. 

Claude, to him, would rattle the foundations of Fódlan. 

That’s what Claude reads in his eyes. Green, and bright, and full of wretched promises. 

Claude glances down at the Duke’s hand, “So I guess this gives me permission to call you Gramps now, huh?” 

There’s a tense, calculated silence that settles over the small crowd bearing witness to this important shift in history. Claude watches his  _ grandfather  _ deconstruct his being with a simple downward glance. He’s analyzing, unpacking his simply crafted trap spun through his words. Years and years have gone by since Claude’s mother left the Alliance and fell in love with the Almyran king-Claude’s fathers. 

Years and years have passed since his mother became the proponent for love, it’s unconditional fortitude, and the power it holds to break down walls and destroy barriers keeping humanity apart. 

Not once, had his  _ grandfather  _ stepped into their world. 

Until, of course, his power was threatened. His own power supply cut short by the untimely death of Mother’s brother. Claude supposes he should feel elated. That the duke is looking for some hint of excitement. Who wouldn’t feel over the moon and starry-eyed to know that riches and gold and legacies are now, rightfully, their’s through succession?

Claude’s rib cage felt incredibly void. 

The silence breaks shortly after. Shattered by the duke’s booming laugh. His retainers look around nervously, Claude spies. “I don’t see why not, my boy. We’re family, after all!”

“If family’s only importance came during matters of personal convenience, then sure!” his mother steps in. She is a lioness, Claude thinks, in this moment. Seeing her cub and the future that might befall on him if she does not intervene. “You will  _ not  _ take my son away, Father. He is not a puppet for you to play with in your political theatre.” 

“Once again you fail to see the bigger picture, Antonia. Your brother has passed. The throne is empty, and we have no other legitimate heirs to the throne. If Claude does not assume the title of heir our house will crumble under the weight of the power vacuum. This is the best for our house’s future.”

“To  _ hell  _ with the house’s future,” his mother spits back. “You’ve had years to come and build a connection with us, with  _ him _ . But you never did, not until now. Not until your own legitimacy was being threatened. So kindly  _ go back _ , and find someone else.” 

Claude watches how his mother bares her fangs. As she looks at the man who raised her, and stares him down as if royalty and crowns meant nothing to her. Not a single thing. Scraps at the dinner table she painfully crafted with her two hands, to support her new family.

He loves this woman. With every fiber of his being, until the stars collapsed and the cosmos corroded, he’d love this woman to the end of time. And in that moment, while he watches the man who represented the most powerful entity of the Alliance clash with his mother, who represented everything he knew about Love, he makes his decision. 

“I’ll go,” finality settles. In Claude’s shoulders, that roll back. In his gaze, that is sturdy and strong. In the way that his mother looks at him, gasping, but he doesn’t falter nor regret. In the way that his grandfather’s mask breaks to show surprise only to melt into a satisfied smirk, he doesn’t snarl in retaliation.

Claude makes a point to hold gazes with his mother. He grasps her hands, pulls them to his lips to press kisses-the way she would when he was younger and his nails would be scraped and his knuckles bloody from the fights he had no choice but to win. “We’ve always talked about what the world would be like if people could understand each other without war and strife and prejudice, haven’t we mother? I think this this is fate pushing me in the best direction to make those dreams a reality.” 

A world without borders, without walls, without barriers. 

Claude watches his mother’s eyes go wide, then soften with realization. With understanding that blends in with the sadness of the inevitable. Her little boy was leaving and when he’d return, neither of them knew. 

His mother’s lips tremble, but she doesn’t cry. She just cups his face and kisses his forehead. And he dips down so it’s easier for her to do so. “I’ll miss you. There won’t be a moment where your face won’t cross my mind. You, are greatness, my son.  _ Nothing _ can stop you.” 

His eyes burn. Her tender words are ones he fiercely locks away in his heart. He holds her tight, for as long as he can, before he steps away. Fixes his face with a smile that radiates confidence despite the anxious beating of his heart. 

“Of course. When has any of my schemes ever failed?”

The rest is a blur of horses and gold. Of disappearing mountainsides and talks about next steps. A meeting of the house leaders was in order. So that the Alliance knew of what was to come. A ceremony of sorts would be held to ring in Claude as the new Heir of House Riegan. It would give Claude a chance to mingle, get to know people, settle the seeds of doubt and uprise. 

Claude’s only half listening as they travel. Such matters were already a given for him. His mind kept traveling back to his mother, her final words (the ones they exchanged in private before he was whisked off) and the finer machinations of his plans. 

“We are approaching Fódlan’s Throat, my lord.” 

As they approach, Claude’s eyes focuses on Fodlan’s Throat. The literal divide between two worlds. A separation of people, of ideas, of identities. A fine line drawn in the sand that  _ we are we  _ and  _ you are you _ . 

He envisions his hands wrapping tightly around Fódlan’s Throat, crushing it.


	2. II

Claude’s expected to attend Garreg Mach Monastery Officers Academy. 

He will be the house leader of the Leicester Alliance. His role, as leader, is to rally his fellow classmates who are all children of important Alliance nobles and commoners of the kingdom. He is to learn everything he possibly can about magic and swords, riding and flying, lances and axes, tactics and battles. He is to absorb, like a sponge, every ink drop of information he can seal away into the pages of his mind. 

He is to enter that school a boy, and graduate a King. 

He’ll do that, of course. Those will be little sidequests along the way. But his real mission at the academy is heavily tied towards his personal satisfaction. He’s eager to delve into their libraries and learn all that he can about the history of this land. As one can only build a future that outweighs the past if he  _ knows  _ the sort of past he’s attempting to fix. 

He’s to start the first week of Great Tree Moon. The irony doesn’t miss him. And as he researches and researches about the monastery (it’s teachers, the Church of Seiros that simultaneously occupy it’s halls, the Archbishop Rhea who seemingly divines and guides, the social climate) the more his excitement grows. 

The year is 1180 and a convergence is upon them. Duke Riegan had let Claude in on his future classmates: Princess Edelgard von Hresvelg of the Adrestian Empire and Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, the noble Prince of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. A mouthful to work around, Claude thinks. But then again, nobility loved to be fanciful in all their affairs. Even when assigning names. 

Though Claude assumes  _ now  _ he can’t really poke jest, as he too shares a plentiful name now. 

The three of them, the duke reminded him, represented a new chapter. Heirs to the most powerful kingdoms in Fódlan. How they developed and socialized during their time at the academy would create shock waves throughout the kingdom-good and bad. They too, would be house leaders for their respective territories. 

“Is the church into roleplay?” Claude jokes, finding this all rather amusing. To have future kings and queens  _ play pretend  _ at their monarchies while handing them assignments and grading their work. “Let’s have all the future leaders mess around! Rule your little houses. Make your little homes.” 

“You’re just like your mother,” he says and Claude doesn’t ignore the way that makes his skin itch. “Wielding witty remarks like a rapier.” 

“She must have gotten it from  _ her  _ mother then, hm, Gramps? ‘Cause I’m not seeing it in your side of the tree! Ah, my apologies.  _ Because _ .” 

The duke’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t rise to Claude’s bait. And that’s really, truly, just the right way to make Claude want to keep biting. “Garreg Mach is a melting pot of nobles and commoners from all over the region. It’ll serve you well to make notes on the social climate, and build rapport amongst the students and faculty-most importantly, your fellow Alliance classmates.” 

“Oh I’ll be as charming as a baby horse, gramps.” Claude grins, all teeth, that never reaches his eyes. And the two continued their talk until the duke had to leave for an Alliance meeting. Claude wouldn’t be attending, this time. Not yet. Not until he could soak his feet a little into the realm of political and social 

Claude didn’t really care. As his endgame was never to secure Fódlan. But he knew how to nod appropriately, and to respond accordingly. He even added little jokes, while he made note of vocal tics and accent marks in his grandfather’s tone whenever he responded. 

Garreg Mach is a stepping stone. A smaller hill for the taller mountain Claude’s trek demanded to be climbed. He’d build his connections. Make them strong enough that people feel comfortable, but not powerful enough that people feel  _ close _ . He’ll say what he has to say and do what he has to do, while taking what he can and usurping whenever appropriate (or bored).

_ Step by step, Claude. Even the deadliest poisons need to brew long enough to become lethal.  _


	3. III

Dimitri is sincere. He is golden like, and forward, and just, and Claude can see an ally in the making. Claude doesn’t find this behavior too surprising. Despite the war tuned calls of Faerghus, Dimitri is a prince. These traits are to be expected. But Claude also knows a wild animal kept behind bars waiting to strike when he sees one. And Dimitri fights with the veracity of a starving beast. He is ruthless with his slashes, and leaves no enemy in his wake alive to tell about it. 

Claude takes note. 

Edelgard is poison. He thinks of how, if you’re not too careful, she will seep into your blood and corrode your body from the inside out and you will not know it was her until it is too late. She is iron walls, tight and formal. She doesn’t laugh at any of Claude’s jokes (which he  _ also  _ takes note of because Dimitri found him hilarious) and she is tunnel visioned with her purpose. Claude likes her razor focus. Likes her efficiency in battle and the way she makes quick work of her enemies. But she is also someone Claude cannot figure out. Whether there’s a darkness there, or a sadness, or  _ both  _ it’s still too hard to tell. 

But he thinks of himself in comparison to them and their paths. How it’s so linear. They will ascend their thrones and take over and remain, or take over and change their countries. They are children forced into adulthood for the sake of power and struggle. And there’s Claude, who’s eagerness to learn about Fódlan is not tied to within, but outside. To a greater purpose. To a larger world. 

Then there’s a moment where the three of them stand, as the bandits are either injured or dying or escaping. Where the reality of their  _ childhoods  _ hit. Where he sees the youth in their faces hidden under the grime and the dirt. 

Where Claude says, “I think I took out more bandits than you guys.”

And Edelgard snorts, replying, “Not a chance. My axe took down way more bandits than you two combined.”

Then Dimitri laughs, bright and clear, before adding, “I took down a pretty good amount as well. I say we all did an excellent job protecting our camp.”

And suddenly Claude thinks this entire ongoing conflict is silly. The divide is silly. That these people are pockets of limitless potential. And that he-in another world, in another timeline-could have been  _ friends  _ with them. 

He buries those thoughts.  _ Eyes on the prize, Claude. Keep your eyes on the prize.  _


	4. IV

When he meets Byleth Claude immediately thinks:  _ rebirth.  _

Rebirth in the way that is raw and unavoidable. Rebirth in the way that to deny it’s intentions would be to deny the very foundations of fate and its demands to be heard. 

Byleth is  _ different.  _ In the way that they carry themselves like a ghost residing in human shell. But their power is great. Their power is awe-inspiring. Their power is a mystery. 

And Claude could never ignore the urge to unravel a mystery and expose all its parts. 

_ I want them.  _

Crosses his mind. Because there’s something in his soul that resounds and heralds as he watches Byleth take down the bandits with this sort of divine abandon. As if the only result capable of manifesting itself was to fall at her blade. 

The Crest of Flames, in all its mythical glory. 

Claude is  _ stupefied.  _

_ I need them. I have to have them.  _

This person was the key. She would be his catalyst, his chemical reaction, to make his dream come to fruition. 

When they’re back at the academy, and she chooses above all else to teach the Golden Deer, Claude feels his heart nearly explode for the first time in seventeen years. 

His smile is outrageous, large and electric filled as he puts his arms behind his head and says, “You made the right choice, teach. Welcome to the Golden Deer.” 


	5. V

When Claude first came to the monastery, his goal was to create an army.

Though he didn’t like that word. So he threw it away and came up with alliance. But that word didn’t sit well either. No, he needed a group. A pack, so to speak. Of people he could persuade when he needed to fall in line with his goals. People he could find that would rise against the rumors and find faith in him. 

He needed people that would believe in him.

He needed… friends. 

“Objectively, this is so sad.” Claude’s made camp in the back of the library, on the bottom floor. Surrounded by books and scraps of paper. Claude rocks back in his chair, spinning an arrow around his fingers idly. 

He has a sheet dedicated to the entire roster of students from the Leicester Alliance. So far, over two dozen names have been crossed off and  _ counting  _ for those who wouldn’t fit the bill. 

He was digging with a fine tooth comb for people he could find as his friends. He works and works until finally, when the dawn rises, he comes up with a solid group of seven. 

“Yeah . . . yeah this is good,” he leans forward until his chair rocks down on all fours. “Yeah, they might just work.” it’s a long shot, for sure. But he’s always been a man to trust his gut. Tomorrow, he would do a little more digging. Then, he’d strike. 


	6. VI

Ignatz’s family are merchants. His eldest brother will take over the business. There’s nothing for a younger brother to do, with the role filled, so he’ll become a knight. Because that’s the fallback for people in Fódlan. If you’re not selling, you’re fighting. 

Ignatz is sensitive. He is kind. Claude likes that. Those traits are easy to work with. Malleable. 

“Hey Ignatz,” he finds Ignatz easily enough. He spends most of his time in the cathedral with the other devout believers of the goddess. Claude doesn’t find himself coming here often. Makes private jokes about how he’ll burst into flames from crossing the threshold.

Hasn’t happened yet. The goddess must be taking mercy on him. 

“O-Oh, your highness!” Claude can’t help but smile at his politeness, his meek manners. But it’s also weird to see someone bow to him. In a cathedral. In the middle of the day. No, he’d never get used to that. 

“Please, call me Claude. I called you by your name, didn’t I?”

“Yeah but…” Ignatz lifts his head up, but his eyes don’t meet Claude.  _ Confidence issues. We need to work on that _ . “I’m just a merchant’s son. That hardly requires a title.”

“Nonsense! Without merchants we wouldn’t have an economy. The world would stall and societies would collapse. Merchants keep our cultures rich, and alive. If you ask me, you guys do a lot more than us,” that sounds so weird, so wrong, “nobles do.” 

Claude watches, and waits. Sees the moment where Ignatz takes what Claude says, and deconstructs it. Finally, it seems as if his answer is satisfactory. Ignatz smiles, softly, and pushes up his glasses. “Wow… thank you your h-Claude. I mean. Did, you um… did you come here to pray as well?”

Here, Claude knows he could lie. Spew a tale about being a fervent believer in the teachings of Seiros. But that’s the line Claude draws. He could never bring himself to lie about such blind faith to gain an ally. While that may be what Ignatz wants to hear, that will not be what Claude chooses to tell him. 

“No. I didn’t. I’m not really much for prayer,” he says casually. “I was actually looking for you. I wanted a chance to talk to you. Get to know you more. Sorry for interrupting you during your prayer, by the way.” he’ll sound remorseful. So even though he cares less about divinity, if there is a humble grace he puts in to the  _ act  _ itself, to make it seem as if he at least sees the importance of the ritual to Ignatz, that will leave an impact. 

And it does. Ignatz nods. He doesn’t turn his head or scrunch his nose like all the others have done when Claude denounces their goddess. He looks insightful, as if he’s making note of Claude’s slight acquiescence to his goddess. 

“It’s okay. I’m really not all that exciting to know about though. I don’t-really do much.”

Ignatz looks away.  _ Liar.  _ Claude grins, “I find that very hard to believe. Everyone has something that makes them special. Why, back home I’m the fastest one to fall asleep. I close my eyes and I’m  _ out _ . No one can beat me when it comes to sleeping.”

That makes Ignatz laugh. Laughter is good, it’s a sign of comfort-it’s a sign of walls falling. “That’s, ha, yeah that’s a pretty impressive skills. I must say.” then the bells chime, and it looks as if the second round of prayers are about to start. Ignatz glances back to Claude, no doubt wondering if it would be rude to cut his conversation short with the heir apparent. 

Claude gives him the ok with a wave of his hand. “It’s alright. We’ll chat later, yeah? Maybe over dinner?”

The smile Ignatz gives him is shy, but sure.  _ I have him, but I’ll need more.  _ “Dinner sounds good to me. Thanks for taking the time to come find and talk with me Claude. I appreciate it.” 

“Anytime, Ignatz. I’ll see you later! Enjoy your prayer, and be careful with your knees!”

*

Claude discovers later that Ignatz is fond of painting. Don’t ask how he finds out, he won’t share his secrets. But it’s a beautiful discovery, and one he’s eager to capitalize on. It’s a skill Ignatz doesn’t talk about. It’s hidden, kept close to his chest. But Claude can see the attachment he has for the skill. The weird sort of tenuous bond, where he looks guilty whenever he takes out a paintbrush or stares at an oil painting for too long. He must not be allowed to paint back home. Disapproved by his parents. Not an  _ honest  _ trade that aligns with his family business. He’s ashamed of it. 

But he shouldn’t be. Not at all. Painting’s a beautiful skill. A refined skill. Not just anyone could paint-or paint well! Claude needed Ignatz to know that. The delivery though, the unveiling of the secret, had to happen on Ignatz’s terms though. If Claude were to oust them then Ignatz would be scared, turn tail and run away. Not the most ideal situation. 

So one day, after their bow and arrow training session, Claude pulls Ignatz aside by the stone pillars. 

“You alright, Claude?”

“Yeah,” Claude makes sure to make his voice sound nervous, a little shy. “I just wanted to ask if you were free right now to look over something I wrote. Poetry, actually.”

“Poetry?” Ignatz looks quizzical. “But why me?” there’s a little string of curiosity, attached to hope in his words. Claude pulls on that string and tugs. 

“I… dunno. After talking with you a couple of times you seem like someone who’s really uh… good with these things. The arts, that is.” at Ignatz’s look Claude is quick to play worried, “Oh! But if I’m wrong, let me know. I can totally find teach and ask her to look at it. Or maybe Manuela, though I’m worried she’ll try to turn my poetry into love poems…”

“No! No, it’s okay. I… was just… surprised. I never would have thought you’d be into poetry.”

“What can I say. I’m a sensitive soul at heart under all the snark and sarcasm. I like having a little duality in my personality. Keeps people guessing,” Claude smirks. “And coming back for more.” 

Ignatz laughs, “Well, okay then. Sure. I don’t mind.”

“Great! Let’s do it now. I have it with me.”

The two find a table in the gardens, and Claude pulls out a piece of poetry from his notebook. An old, short tale about a boy who wanted to touch the sun. It’s one of his more personal pieces, though certainly not  _ personal  _ personal _.  _ Just enough so that Ignatz could see Claude isn’t all what he appear to portray. To show that he can be introspective, appreciative, reflective,  _ artistic.  _ To find a common ground, a shared secret. 

Claude fidgets, makes himself seem a little uncomfortable to have his work read. “I.. don’t really talk about it. Writing poetry, I mean. Normally I think people won’t… won’t-”

“Understand? Support you?” 

_ Projecting.  _ “Yeah! Exactly… it’s like. This is a part of me, you know? The words I write are a reflection of who I am. To create is a beauty, a privilege. But to not be able to share it with others because they may not understand is really… lonely.”

He drops his voice, and his gaze, then to his arrow that he twirls and twirls in his hands. He peeks up and sees Ignatz biting his lip. As if he’s at war with himself about what to say next. Then he meets Claude’s gaze. His next words are hook, line, and sinker. 

“I get it. I really do,” Ignatz starts quietly. “I… enjoy painting. A lot. But my parents have never supported me. It’s not the kind of work they think matters. Doesn’t make money. I still like it though, even though I find it hard to tell people about it.”

“You paint?” Claude is so pleased with how easy it is to sound surprised by the confession. “Wow… Ignatz that’s-”

“Weird?” he fills in.

Claude shakes his head. “No. Amazing. That’s so cool! I can’t paint to save my life. The fact that you can though that’s really… unique, and incredible.” he smiles invitingly, warmly, and the way Ignatz looks at him as if a new star has been born in front of him and he can’t wait to paint that image onto canvas makes Claude’s heart yearn. “Whenever you can, and whenever you feel comfortable enough, I’d love to see your work sometimes. Hell, I’ll even hang it in the halls of House Reigan once I’m in power!”

“Oh no, you don’t have to do all that! I’m not even very good at it.” Ignatz pauses, consideration flickering through his gaze. Slowly, he says, “ I’ll . . . I think I’d like that. Sharing my work with you. And!” he’s quick to add, “If you ever want to show your poetry to me. I’d be happy to read it, Claude.”

“Now that’s a deal I can get behind.” Claude says eagerly. “I’m really seeing those merchant’s son skills being put to work with your ability to strike up such a good bargain.” 

This, Claude feels, as they continue to chat about art and their passions. As he sees the light continue to grow and grow in Ignatz’s eyes, is a bond. One of many he will begin to forge and craft and perfect. 

They talk well into the night, going and going, and by the time it’s all over Claude feels a weird warmth in his chest. One he hasn’t felt since leaving his mother back in Almyra. 

It’s a pleasant tingle that sticks with him as he crawls into bed and falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so! that's that so far. next part will focus on raphael and will come within the next two weeks or so! this was a VERY chaotic posting but i have 0 regrets and i hope you all have enjoyed thus far! lemme know what you think! also #stanclaude! 
> 
> twitter: @passionbootys ;)


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